Chick Habit
by Meredith-Grey
Summary: Logan tells it straight, tonics, pills, and feminine frills. Some light shed on his season six escapades. One Shot.


**Title:** _Chick Habit_

**Rating: **_ R_

**Date Started:** _1-25-08_

**Date finished: **_4-23-08_

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own Gilmore Girls. It all belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB. Title comes from a song by April Marsh by the same name._

**Summary:** _Logan tells it straight, tonics, pills, and feminine frills. Some light shed on his season six escapades. One Shot._

**A/N: **_I don't usually write about Logan, but I thought this would be an interesting piece. Reviews are always appreciated._

"Fuck."

He was digging in his pockets, checking frantically. There was little chance of them getting caught—not that he was all that concerned—but it was never smart to keep a girl waiting, especially right before the act. She pushed her skirt back a few more inches so that it wasn't bunched up underneath her thighs, sighed, and groped around in the semi-darkness for her purse.

"Shit, Logan," her Prada handbag held more than enough condoms. "Here."

He kissed her to shut her up and pressed her legs closer to the wall. She rested one on his shoulder almost lazily, pulling on his hips with slight impatience.

He abruptly entered her, causing her body to stiffen underneath his touch. He was flashy, more concerned with the memory their encounter would make than with the actual process. She could already imagine what he'd tell his cronies, Yeah, I fucked Lydia Wiseman behind the stairwell at my father's press release. How'd ya do it Logan, how'd ya fuck her? On top of a box of disposable napkins with her possessive brother two doors down the hall, that's how.

She was taking his thrusts only halfway in. The odd height difference didn't provide the best angle, for her at least. Lydia turned her head to the side and just let him work on her. It was easier that way.

**I.**

The hallway of his father's office building was a butter crème shade of muted yellow, not harsh enough to be a mustard and not metallic enough to be considered gold. The fact that he knew this alarmed and even saddened him. Rory's sudden deviation from Kafka and Tolstoy to china patterns and paint samples must have been rubbing off on him. He'd half to put a cap on that.

Mitchum's voice could be heard through the partially cracked door, but only slightly. He was trying to politely shove off whoever was keeping him. The older man's tone grew quick and business-like. Logan couldn't be bothered to ease drop; he was in an all out texting war with Colin. He slouched against the flaxen walls, distracted, and barely noticed when a mousy looking man with wiry red hair walked off in a funk, leaving the door open behind him.

Logan closed his phone and sank down in one of the unoccupied chars. He'd bothered to close the door behind him; perhaps this talk wouldn't be as time consuming as the last. At least this time He'd remembered to leave his phone on silent.

Mitchum swirled his wedding band around his ring finger, his posture like an aged lion that didn't want to be bothered with particulars.

"So, Dad. Time for one of our family chats?" Logan's expression was mild, even slightly uninterested.

"How does June sound to you?" Mitchum didn't look up from the paper he was skimming.

"June bugs, cool."

"That's when you're leaving. For London, that is." He briefly made eye contact with his son.

"Oh."

"But you know all that." Mitchum assumed. "I called you here to talk about something else."

"Shoot."

He had expected it, or at least that's what Logan tried to tell himself. The date wasn't all that far away when he actually thought about it. It gave him four months in which to enjoy himself.

"Logan, you're a young, respectable man whose about to enter the family business. Most people would agree that you've got a lot going for you." There was a slight pause. "It would make sense if, judging from your background, you began to settle down."

_Shit._

"Well Dad, the fact of the matter is . . . "

"I don't care about that," Mitchum was his normal self again. "I just want to know if you're actually serious about this Gilmore kid. You've been with her for what, two years now? I'd say that's long enough either way."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Marriage," his father explained. "Two years is the time."

"Wait, let me get this right," Logan clarified. "You want me to marry Rory just because I'm supposed to be married at this age? Because it'll look good?" He asked.

"Well," Mitchum reasoned. "It won't look bad. You could have picked a better girl but everyone loves a rags to riches story . . . "

"Honestly?" Logan picked a piece of lint off his three hundred dollar pants. "I don't want to get married to anyone just yet."

Mitchum shrugged. "It's your call. But it'd help for business. That's all I'm saying."

Logan made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. "I'll think about it."

The phone rang. Life was calling Mitchum back, hold until answer, waiting on line one. "It's was good talking to you, son."

"Yeah, great."

**II.**

"I'm supposed to get married."

Blair's light snoring gave a pause; she blinked a few times. "Poor baby."

Logan rolled over onto his stomach. "What I want doesn't even matter. I am a tool for my fathers use."

She crawled onto his back, smoothing the hair at the base of his neck. "That's why people have children, so they can boss them around."

He grunted into the starched hotel pillow. "But what about what _I _want?"

"What do you want?"

He shrugged. "At this point I don't even know."

"You know, there are a lot of guys just like you. Sons of big business jerk-offs that don't get a say in their own future, it's actually very sad."

He moved their position so she was starring down at him. "How much do you charge a night?"

"Five hundred," she said easily.

Logan checked the clock. It read two oh nine. "Guess I've got some more work to do."

She smiled in that rehearsed way that all girls could simulate. "Whatever you want, Mr. Huntzburger."

**III.**

Her nails were a peachy pink, glossy and wet. "How was your business trip?" Rory asked.

Logan shrugged. "Dull, long. What'd you do while I was gone?"

Her eyes flicked to her handbag, one that he'd seen her with over a year ago when they first met. The muted corner of a black paperback was visible. "Not a lot. Saw some people, visited my mom, I went to Lane's wedding."

"That's your Asian friend, right?"

"Yeah, Lane." Her tone was clipped.

Logan removed his tie and suit coat. "You leaving?"

"Yep," Rory blew on her nails. "I've got to be at the paper in twenty minutes. You'll find something to do without me? I'll probably stay late."

"I won't wait up.'

She kissed him quickly, all lips, no tongue, and left.

**IV.**

"The Three Musketeers!" Finn roared, downing his beer. Colin laughed drunkenly and slapped his friend on the back.

"Fess up Huntz, who'd you screw while you were away?"

His head was heavy from smoke and alcohol. "Why'd you want to know so bad?" Logan was working on his own drink, gulping slow and steady.

"Tell us," Finn taunted, smiling boyishly.

"We live through you vicariously, it's our only means of social interaction." Colin leaned on his friend for balance, swaying on his barstool.

"Can't talk," he mumbled.

His companions gaped. Swallowing, Logan clarified. "It's not the kind of stuff I want on page six."

They took the hint. "Oh ho," Colin said. "Not _legitimate_ company, eh?"

He chuckled. "Don't miss a beat, do you?"

Fin ordered another round of drinks. "Perception's always been his strong suit. Forget page six. Give us the details."

"Well, it started like this . . . "

**V.**

The lights were off. Logan fumbled for the switch.

"Rory."

No answer.

He made his way into the bedroom, tossing his coat on the nearest piece of furniture.

"Rory," he called again.

The bedroom was pristine, like it hadn't been touched in days. The tops of the dressers and nightstands were clean, empty. The sheets, made, neat, the corners crisp with starch and detergent. It was like the room had been sanitized.

He moved to take off his watch, and there it was, tucked into the frame of the mirror.

_Logan,_

Her schoolgirl-perfect handwriting, slanted across a folded page.

_You were right._

The last of her words he'd ever read.

_You're not a relationship guy._

**Fin.**

**A/N:**_ My first foray into the Rory/Logan realm. Tell me what you think :D_


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